


Vanishing Point

by Ponderosa



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Authority Figures, M/M, Military, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lt. Nichol manages to get Trowa arrested on suspicion of espionage. In exchange for Trowa's freedom, Treize, recently deposed, wants his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanishing Point

Dressed in the ornate, formal attire of the Sanc Kingdom, Zechs stood waiting for him on the platform in Barge's hanger bay. Treize stepped off the shuttle, and though he wished for a warm embrace, he offered no more than his hand and a smile.

Zechs took both gracefully, silently, and after pointing the way, fell into step beside him. There was no doubt in Treize's heart that this had been the last favour he would receive from his friend.

"I must thank you, again, for delivering my dear Lady from harm," Treize said. As they neared the end of the corridor, he looked over at Zechs. How strange it was for him to look upon that naked profile in something other than half-light and shadow. "If anyone who has served under my command better knows the strain of wearing two faces...."

"Will you see her while you're here?" Zechs asked. He gestured for the soldier standing guard to key open the doors to the detention area.

The soldier looked to Treize for confirmation. He nodded and the doors slid open. "Perhaps, though it may do more harm than good," he said, and Zechs said nothing more until they reached the last cell in the block.

"Trowa Barton, the pilot of Gundam Zero-Three," Zechs said, and beyond the barred window, Treize saw the prisoner's head lift.

*

The room held nothing but a table, a pair of chairs, and the two of them. Treize saw the boy's attention go to the security cameras. If he was worried that the red eyes of the cameras were dimmed, he didn't show it. The odds were that it was no surprise. From the looks of it, he'd seen the butt end of a rifle more than once since his cover had been blown.

"A risky gamble, infiltrating a ship like this." Treize seated himself across from Trowa. It was only a matter of time before those loyal to Romefeller would question his visit and that there were no orders coming in on what to do with the prisoner.

_Keep the hounds from my heels for a few days still, Milliardo._

"Though you certainly covered your tracks well, Lieutenant Nichol was extremely thorough in his investigation of the credentials you provided," he continued. "It's no rarity to find young men who have falsified documents to enter into military service, but surely you know that the political climate does not allow a good commander to look lightly upon such trespasses amongst officers." Treize leaned forward. "Particularly when they are given leave to pilot such important machines."

Trowa said nothing. The silence weighed heavily.

"They've treated you poorly," Treize said, after a time. He folded his hands together atop the table and with a gloved fingertip indicated the mottled bruises darkening the line of Trowa's jaw.

"I apologise for that. I would see to it that they be disciplined, but I'm afraid the soldiers responsible are no longer under my command," Treize said. Though his regret was sincere and he had just confessed his waning influence, the young man across from him showed no sign of having heard a single word that he'd said.

"Very well, enough small talk. It appears you destroyed one of your comrades' suits for nothing," Treize said. At that, Trowa started; it was nothing more than a twitch of his hand, but the cuff around his wrist rattled against the smooth metal of the chair as loud and damning as a gunshot.

"Save your worries for the moment, Zero-Three," Treize said. Careful not to betray his eagerness, he held himself still and watched Trowa carefully. "Though Lieutenant Nichol has spared no effort, he has produced no evidence tying you to the Gundams with anything other than conjecture and coincidence. Nor has Zechs betrayed your secret to anyone other than myself."

"What do you want from me?" Trowa asked, his voice quiet and calm and even.

Treize sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, hands sliding off the table to drop into his lap. "I'm in a position to help you," he said. "With the way things have progressed, we have a common goal."

"What do you want from me?" Trowa repeated.

"Cooperation," Treize said, and smiled thinly.

*

Treize headed for the wardroom after he ordered Trowa escorted back to his cell. The prisoner would need time to determine whether or not Treize was being honest with him, whether or not he could be trusted.

And above all, Treize needed a drink.

He had no insights with this pilot, no sense that the boy would truly understand him. Still, he pinned his hope on Trowa because there were precious few other avenues to pursue; Lady Une was too fragile, his path and Zechs's had diverged beyond mending, and the other Gundam pilots were scattered, hiding underground or—though he thought it unlikely—floating dead in space.

Mobile dolls. Treize's lip curled and he felt a familiar twinge of contempt at the thought of those soulless machines pouring off the assembly line like so many tin soldiers. They would fall accordingly, but how many lives would be lost in vain before the world saw fit to correct the error of its ways.

Thoughts churning in an endless spiral and yielding no new results, Treize entered the wardroom. He was surprised to find Zechs there, seated in a wing-backed chair near the row of tall windows looking out into space.

Treize ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses, carrying them himself across the room to where Zechs enjoyed the view. "It's poor manners to drink alone. Will you do me the honour of joining me?"

Zechs drew his gaze away from the windows and nodded at the empty chair to his left. "What did you think of him?" he asked. His thumb rubbed idly at the side of his forefinger as Treize poured him a glass.

"He is not so determined as Zero-One, or as spirited as Zero-Five."

"No," Zechs agreed. He took the glass Treize offered him and raised it up in a silent toast before taking a sip. "But, he is no less dedicated to his cause."

"You're certain of this." There had been a time when Treize would not have questioned Zechs's assessment of a person, friend or foe, but, as the pale blue eyes that fixed on him reminded him, times had changed.

"If you can convince him to help you, he won't turn tail and run."

The plush softness of the cushions whispered against Treize's uniform as he relaxed into the chair's embrace. Putting his hand to his chin, he hummed a thoughtful sound. He had only a handful of days to pull the right strings.

*

There were fresh marks on Trowa's skin the second time Treize arranged to see him. There was an awkwardness to his step as well, and a few paces made it clear that he favoured his right leg.

Declining the escorting soldier's offer to uncuff Trowa's wrists and recuff him to the chair, Treize dismissed the Lieutenant with thanks. He was a loyal soldier, although not as ill at ease with his fellows' treatment of a prisoner as Treize would have hoped. Still, Treize understood the animosity in the ranks held towards the Gundam pilots, even those suspected of being one on rumour alone, and did not think too harshly of the man. Left alone again with the young pilot, Treize took a seat and produced a file folder, tossing it across the table.

Trowa caught it as it spun, the chains dangling between his wrists clinking together as he righted it and looked up to ask: "What's this?"

"Your case file," Treize said. He reached across, pausing when Trowa froze, muscles taut like a startled animal. "May I?"

Trowa shrugged, the tension bleeding away from his posture, though he remained clearly on edge, and his eyes were sharp and wary.

"All the evidence they have against you is in here," Treize said, flipping open the file and riffling the pages. "As I told you previously, the majority is circumstantial. However, I wouldn't put it past someone to manufacture evidence. Your documented skill as a pilot works against you here, and I'm sure you can perceive the ramifications if the military tribunal sees fit to release any information to the media."

Once Treize had settled back in his chair again, Trowa skimmed the pages in silence. He paused a third of the way through the sizable stack, slim fingers plucking at the edge of the printout.

"You're certain you can get the charges dropped and my record cleared so I can continue serving in OZ?" Trowa asked. He spoke cautiously, as if he was trying to convince himself that agreeing to cooperate with the leader of the organisation he'd been fighting against for months was the right course of action.

"Yes."

"You'll have to get me out of that cell as soon as possible, then," Trowa said. He scooted back in his chair, reaching down to rub his hands along his shin. "I won't be much use to you if those bastards get any rougher."

Treize dipped his chin in a slow nod. He looked towards the door. The clock fixed firmly to the wall above it told him the time he had left on the camera blackout was less than five minutes, and Lieutenant Baker would certainly be back before that. There were few excuses he could make to transfer Trowa to a more secure cell without rousing suspicion, and depending on who his tormenters were, it might not do much good regardless.

He made a decision and closed the folder as he rose to his feet. This wasn't his first choice, but if the good Lieutenant proved willing to indulge the whims of a superior officer, it would yield the swiftest and safest results.

"I'll need you to trust me and follow my lead," Treize said. He stepped around the table and put his hand to his belt. He looked down at Trowa who slowly nodded in assent.

"Let's just hope this works, hm?" Treize said.

*

Trowa sat on the floor, his long legs bent and drawn towards his chest. A dinner tray that had been made up for Treize lay empty beside him, picked clean of everything including crumbs. He checked his reflection in a domed, silver-plated cover, fingertips exploring the bruises Treize had pointed out two days earlier.

"How long can you reasonably keep me here?" Trowa asked. He set the cover back down on the tray and draped his arms over his knees. The white of his uniform pants was no longer pristine, though his boots looked no worse for wear.

"It's difficult to say," Treize replied honestly. He had long-since removed his coat, and presently he lounged on the bed, one leg dangling down to the floor. "Until morning, certainly. After that I wouldn't expect they'd let me keep you for more than twenty-four hours, and that's a generous estimate."

"So how long will it take for you to make whatever arrangements are necessary to get my charges dropped?"

"The wheels have already been put into motion," Treize murmured. He undid the topmost buttons of his shirt and scooted down, propping a pillow under his neck and closing his eyes. "If luck is on our side, it won't be more than a day."

If not, you and I can both pray they don't break your legs or visit worse hurts upon you when you end up back in that cell.

"Thanks for the food," Trowa said abruptly, and Treize heard him getting to his feet.

"You're welcome."

"You won't object if I make use of your shower, too, will you?"

Treize smirked and waved a hand. "Be my guest."

*

"Have something I can sleep in?" Trowa emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his skin flushed pink from hot water or vigorous scrubbing. The marks on his body stood out in sharp relief, bruises considerably worse than the ones on his face.

He tossed the wad of his clothes into the corner, and dropped his boots next to the wall.

Treize swung his legs over the edge of the bed, heels thunking against the side of the bunk. He stretched an arm out to catch the shoulderstrap of his luggage and dragged it close. Rooting through the bag, he found an undershirt and a pair of drawstring pyjama bottoms. "Adequate?"

"Yes." Trowa took the clothes and got dressed where he stood with the brusque efficiency of someone accustomed to changing in close quarters.

"You're welcome to half the bed, if you don't mind having to share," Treize said, yanking his boots off before laying back down again. He folded his arms over his chest, shifting when his dress shirt pulled uncomfortably taut across his back.

"You plan to sleep in your clothes?" Trowa stood at the foot of the bed. The shirt hung loose on him, accenting the sharp angles of a body whose muscles had yet to reach their bulk.

"I thought it would make you more comfortable."

"I'm in a room with a man who could expose me as a terrorist. Whether or not he needs to iron his trousers in the morning isn't really going to the tip the scale of comfort."

"Chivalry is dead," Treize murmured, amused.

"I had your dick in my mouth a few hours ago, I think we're past the point of politesse."

That was not the sort of response he expected, and Treize permitted himself a small laugh. Trowa was interesting, and far more complex than Treize had given him credit for. The boy seemed uncomplicated on the surface, serious and straightforward, but as the saying went, still waters ran deep.

Treize sat up enough to tug his shirt off over his head. Sleeves pulled inside-out, he undid the cuffs and let it drop to the floor. "Should I apologise for that?" Treize asked. He propped an arm behind his head and watched Trowa perch on the edge of the bed. "If my associates come through on their end of things, not only will you have to deal with lingering suspicion, but you now have the burden of having been branded a catamite."

"It was only a matter of time before one of them tried to bend me over a chair," Trowa said. "Better that I'm a notch on a General's belt, wouldn't you agree?"

Treize laughed more freely, but his good humour vanished when the heat of Trowa's hand slid up the inside of his leg.

"What game are you playing at?" Treize said, taking hold of Trowa's wrist and lifting it away.

"I thought you might let me finish what I started earlier," Trowa said. He dropped his weight onto his wrist and twisted, one knee pressing into the mattress. The borrowed shirt hung low at his neck, and Treize found himself eyeing the graceful sweep of Trowa's collarbone before he caught himself.

"Until morning, you said. That's the closest thing to certainty I have right now...that I'll have in a good long while no matter what happens," Trowa continued. He wet his lips and the hand splayed over the dark blankets pressed deeper into the softness of the mattress, fingertips turning white. "Spending it asleep seems like a waste."

_The nearer the dawn the darker the night, Zero-Three?_

Treize wouldn't call what he saw in Trowa's eyes fear, but rather something more akin to loneliness. As men they were not on equal terms, nor were they bound so tightly by circumstance, but they were both of them adrift and it was enough to make him feel at ease with the thought.

Or, he chided himself silently, perhaps he was reading too much into things. The thought of a warm and willing body in his arms was hardly disagreeable. Fingers tightening around Trowa's wrist, Treize pulled him forward.

"Do you kiss?" he asked, a blade of lust stabbing into his stomach as Trowa swung a leg over and straddled him, lean thighs pressing tight to his legs.

Slender fingers framed his face, and Treize slid his hands down Trowa's sides as a soft tongue swept across his lips. "That's a yes, then," Treize murmured.

He tipped his head to the side and invited a deeper kiss, humming approval at the ardent thrust of Trowa's tongue. His hands explored Trowa's back, from the sharp angles of his shoulderblades to the dips and hollows along his spine, careful not to press too greedily for fear of tender spots. The boy's cock was hard, aligned and rubbing eagerly against his own, and Treize felt his blood heat in his veins. It had been months since he'd had the luxury of sharing his bed with anyone.

Panting out a quiet "Wait", Trowa pushed himself to sitting. He ran his teeth over his lower-lip, kiss-flushed and thick, and rocked himself against Treize's erection. Taking hold of the hem of his borrowed shirt, he pulled it up and over his head, dropping back down on top of Treize as soon as he had shaken the shirt free of his arms.

The heat of Trowa's body was startling, and Treize threaded a hand into the soft hair behind Trowa's ear to pull him back into a kiss. Trowa was certainly no blushing virgin, but there was an inexperience in him that spoke of stolen moments in shadowed corners and the fumbling haste of youth. He could feel Trowa's heartbeat warring against his own, and the quiet sounds of pleasure the boy was making were sweeter than the taste of his tongue.

Bracing one arm on the bed and curling the other around Trowa, Treize rolled them over. He hung above Trowa, an indulgent smile on his lips when Trowa's arms tangled around his neck. "You'll permit me to return the favour, mmm?" He turned his head to place a gentle bite at the inside of Trowa's elbow. He inched down, left wet, sucking kisses across the smoothness of Trowa's chest, and Trowa arched beautifully beneath him, breath ragged and heavy with want.

"Have patience," Treize said, fingers curling into the waist of Trowa's pants and tugging them down over narrow hips. He mouthed the join of Trowa's leg, lips tickling against fine hairs. "We have all night."

*

They had all night, he'd said, and yet Treize found himself responding to the needy jerks of Trowa's hips beneath his hands with an equal intensity. He moaned around the flesh hot in his mouth and looked up the long line of Trowa's body to see his hands gripping the pillow above his head, fingers flexing as if he didn't know what else to do with them.

Treize slid his arms beneath Trowa's body, pinning his legs in place and allaying the impatient shifts and twists that sought to force him deeper into Treize's mouth. He let Trowa's cock slip free and dragged his tongue along the underside from root to tip. "There's no need to keep quiet," he said, blowing a puff of air over the head of Trowa's cock before taking it between his lips again.

Despite his encouragement, Trowa proved merely to be the silent type, all small sounds and harsh, panting breaths. Treize closed his eyes, narrowing his focus to the slick glide of hard flesh sliding in and out of his mouth, each stroke measuring the tense, quivering need of the body in his arms.

He moaned when Trowa's hips bucked and when the hot rush of come flooded onto his tongue, he nearly lost it himself directly on the sheets.

"Don't swallow," he heard Trowa say, and then there were hands on his face, urging him forward. "Let me."

Treize curved a smile and crawled over Trowa, brushing their lips together before he let the come pooled on his tongue slip into Trowa's waiting mouth. He licked Trowa's lip, painting it slick with what remained and took a moment to enjoy the sight before he sucked it clean again.

"How long until morning?" Trowa murmured, his eyes opening lazily.

Glancing at the clock, Treize answered him.

"Good," Trowa said. His tongue curled lewdly against his lip. "It's your turn."

*

Zechs didn't show up to see him off, and Treize boarded his private shuttle with only a token farewell from the soldiers on duty. For a moment, he thought to seek Zechs out, to thank him once more, but there would be enough repercussions to deal with when he returned to Luxembourg that to delay any further would be foolish.

As he took his seat, Treize harbored some regret that he had left only a letter for his Lady. Laughing quietly to himself, he supposed that wasn't entirely true; he had left her a far better gift than his company.

_Provide well for our young shooting star, Colonel._

No, Trowa did not possess the determination of Zero-One, nor the spirit of Zero-Five, but he had his own equally admirable qualities.

Treize rested his elbow on the arm of the seat and watched the glitter of the stars lead him back to Earth.


End file.
